


Don't Call Me Buttercup

by ElloPoppet



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And Stiles Wants to Give Him Nice Things, Angst, Anxious Stiles Stilinski, Baking, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Fluff, Hale Family Feels, Isaac Feels, Like a lot of pet names, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Pack Bonding, Pet Names, Pining, Scenting, Secret Santa, Slow Build, Stiles just wants to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-12 19:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElloPoppet/pseuds/ElloPoppet
Summary: Isaac wants to do Secret Santa. Derek is bad at gifts. Stiles helps, and also practices making Derek uncomfortable with awful, cutesy pet names along the way.Derek secretlylovesthe pet names. Oh, and he loves Stiles as well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do a Christmas fic. Stiles calling Derek cutesy names also gives me life. Welcome to a land of trope-filled, fluffy nonsense. 
> 
> I'm aiming for no more than 8 short chapters and will have this wrapped up before Christmas (pun unfortunately intended).
> 
> Unbeta'd. All the screw-ups are mine all mine. And I am fully aware that this timeline is so completely non-canon, but I just wanted Alpha!Derek and also for everyone to still be alive. So there. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Secret Santa. You want to do Secret Santa.”

Stiles reached over to clap Derek on his shoulder. “Question marks, dude. I know you have to know how to use them, somewhere in that wolfy brain of yours.”

Derek pointedly ignored him, turning his attention back to Isaac, who was sitting on the other side of the table. He stared and glowered until the younger wolf shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I thought...it just seems like a thing that families do, right? I thought it would be...nice.” Isaac was practically whispering, and god dammit, Derek would be a god’s honest, actual monster if he denied Isaac this inconsequential thing. He put his hands to his head and rubbed his temples for a moment before again addressing the table.

“Any objections?” he asked, purposefully going up at the end of his sentence as obnoxiously as possible, earning a punch on the shoulder from Stiles, who breathed “Atta boy” under his breath. Derek continued to ignore him as he looked around the table.

“I’m in,” Scott replied easily.

“Me, too!” Allison, so chipper it made Derek’s stomach roll. 

“Why not?” Erica sounded bored.

Boyd simply nodded.

“It’s...a cute idea.” Lydia elbowed Jackson in the ribs until he grunted out an agreement.

Derek didn’t even get the chance to look over to Stiles before the human let out a loud woop and flurried up and away from the table. 

“Alright, festive festivities! We need paper, and pencils, and why aren’t there any of these things laying around? Shouldn’t somebody be, like, pack secretary during pack meetings? That would make sense, but no, let’s not do things the logical way, ever. Derek, do you not own paper?”

Stiles was exhausting.

Derek motioned towards the kitchen area of the loft. “There’s a shopping list pad on the fridge, should be a pencil out there somewhere. And grab a bowl.” 

Stiles bounded into the kitchen and returned seconds later, plopping himself back at the dining room table with the aforementioned items. “I like the shopping list. It’s so very domestic,” he crooned as he scribbled before tearing the paper into strips. He folded them up and tossed them into the bowl, mixing them with a flourish before handing the bowl over to Scott. “Pick and pass, my good man. And no name sharing!”

Derek watched the bowl make its way around the table. He watched the smiles or purposeful stoic facial expressions come across his pack members’ faces as they unraveled their mystery gift recipients. He watched Isaac’s flush grow redder and deeper as the seconds passed; he seemed genuinely pleased and surprised that the group had taken to his idea with so much gusto. Derek also had to suppress a small smile himself as he noticed Jackson’s face turn a slight green color; he made an internal bet with himself that Jackson had drawn Stiles. Derek also made an internal bet (with better odds) that his face likely turned even greener than Jackson’s when he drew the last name in the bowl. 

Lydia? What the fuck would he get for _Lydia_? This whole thing was stupid. Dammit, Isaac.

The pack meeting came to a close not long after, everyone having confirmed that their security runs around the border had stayed quiet, after the humans had given updates on the physical training that Derek had forced them to start completing after the debacle with the Alpha pack earlier in the year. Having agreed to reconvene on Christmas Eve for their gift exchange, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, and Stiles started bundling up to head out for the night. Isaac, Boyd and Erica had already left for their quick jaunt to their own shared loft on the other side of the repurposed industrial building, calling out their goodbyes amidst a discussion about ordering pizza once they settled in for the night. Derek found himself smiling into his quiet, empty space after Scott closed the door, the last one out. He always found himself filled with an almost foreign warmth when surrounded by his pack (and they were all his pack, Scott’s stubborn insistence be damned). 

It took barely an hour for the panic to start settling in. He had a week until Christmas Eve to find a gift for Lydia, and after spending 45 minutes sifting through the internet (“Yes, Stiles, I know how to connect to WiFi, Jesus.”) the only thing he had accomplished was working himself into a frenzy. He would have felt better prepared to choose a gift for anybody else in the pack. The wolves would have been easy, but so would the other humans. Allison? Something archery related. Stiles? 17 bags of curly fries. Done. But Lydia? 

It took 10 minutes of brooding and pacing before he cursed under his breath and texted Stiles to see if the Sheriff was home, and another 20 minutes before he pulled up to the curb down the block from Stiles’ house. He leapt onto the roof with ease, slid the window open, and swung himself into Stiles’ room. 

“See, I prefer being warned about your impending arrival via ambiguous questions regarding my Dad’s whereabouts over you just breaking and entering with zero warning. Next, we can practice you asking permission to bop into my home in the middle of the night like a post-grunge Santa Clause.” Stiles didn’t bother turning away from his laptop before addressing Derek, who closed the window behind him with a huff.

Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s only 10:30, Stiles. It’s not the middle of the night.”

Stiles sighed with overdramatic exasperation from his computer chair, finally swiveling to look at Derek. “That’s what you got out of that, okay then. What’s up, Buttercup?”

Derek let the teasing name slide, biting his tongue against the sight of Stiles dressed warmly in soft looking flannel pajama pants and an overly large forest green sweatshirt that made his amber eyes pop and glow in the low light of the room. His hair was messy, as per usual ever since he had grown out his typical buzzcut. Derek preferred Stiles’ hair a little longer like this, and often wondered if it was soft to the touch, or if there was enough of it to pull…

 _Not the time to wax poetic about the idiot teenager’s eyes and hair_ , Derek scolded himself. He had been having to do that a lot lately, when it came to Stiles, and it was becoming infuriating. Pushing aside thoughts of curling around a warm, pajama’d Stiles and determinedly ignoring the strong scent of StilesStilesSTILES surrounding him in the guy’s room, Derek held out his slip of paper from the Secret Santa drawing.

“No way, man! I don’t want to trade. I have a boss idea about what to get my lucky gift-ee. Put that away.” Stiles held his hands palm up in front of himself, made a few frantic pushing motions.

_Spastic moron, jumping to conclusions, flailing about._

_It IS kind of cute._

_godDAMMIT_

“I’m not here to trade you, Stiles. Or I guess I hadn’t thought about asking, although that would probably solve my problem.” Derek kicked himself for not just forcing one of his wolves to trade with him. 

“No can do, Buttercup. Sorry. Bye now.” Stiles turned his attention back to his laptop. Derek kind of hated him. 

“Stiles. I need your help.” He could hear the strain in his own voice. It was worth it though, to watch Stiles nearly fall off of his chair with the force of how hard he whipped his head around to stare at Derek, eyes as big as saucers. He wasn’t prepared for Stiles to jump up and crowd into his space, however, his human heart rabbiting in his chest as fast as a human heart could. 

“Are you hurt? Is somebody else hurt? What happened? DEREK, focus here! What happened?!” Stiles’ fear rolled off of him in bitter waves.

“Stiles!” Without thinking, Derek reached out, placing a hand on each one of Stiles’ shoulders and squeezing firmly. “Nothing! Nothing happened. It’s not...it’s about Secret Santa. Hence the paper? Relax. They’re all okay.” Derek tried to sound as calm as possible. He was not ready to deal with a Stiles Stilinski level panic attack. He was even less prepared to deal with having been the cause of one. His heart ached in his chest at Stiles’ immediate reaction to a simple request for help. _Spending time around werewolves, Kanimas, Nogitsunes and evil, evil people will do that to a person_ , he supposed, a new wave of the same old guilt blanketing over him.

“They’re okay?” Stiles asked, wide eyes searching Derek’s as though he would be able to spot a lie. Derek nodded. Stiles drew a deep breath. 

“You’re okay, too?” 

Derek felt like Stiles had struck him in a not-completely unpleasant way. A year ago, the thought of Stiles checking on his well being would have been a joke. The thought of Stiles caring about him would have been a joke. 

They had come a long way.

“Yeah, Stiles, I’m fine. I’m going to take my hands off,” Derek stated before lowering his arms and taking a step back. Stiles let out a short burst of laughter.

“That’s my line, man. And, ah. That’s good, that everyone’s okay. Sorry about the freak out. It’s just...walking on eggshells, you know?” Stiles ran his hands through his hair. Derek swallowed down his own pitiful jealousy at the action.

“I know. It’s okay. I should have led with something different.” It wasn’t quite an apology, but it was close enough for Derek’s comfort. Apparently it was acceptable to Stiles, who nodded and eased himself back into his chair. 

“Alright, okay. Crisis averted. What do you need? If you drew my name, don’t ask me what I want because you’re taking the surprise away, dude.” Stiles was back to speaking at his normal rate, the bitter scent of fear being replaced with Stiles’ usual scent of spicy deodorant, teenage arousal, and something sweet that Derek could never place. 

“I didn’t get you, calm down. I got Lydia.”

Stiles threw his head back in laughter. “That’s...well, that’s unlucky, dude. She’s impossible to buy for. I don’t know why you came to me for help, I once bought her like 37 things for her birthday because I didn’t know what she would like.”

Something in Derek’s core clenched. He gritted his teeth. “I figured I could count on getting some ideas from the moron who has been madly in love with her for all of eternity,” he bit out, as much as it pained him to do so. 

Stiles just waved his hand in the air dismissively. “That ship has sailed. The 10-year plan didn’t pan out, she’s in love with a lizard/wolf hybrid, and my unrequited affections have skipped their way onto someone anew,” he said, and the air became tangy. Derek heard Stiles’ heart thump out of rhythm. Either he was lying about not being in love with Lydia, or it still hurt him to think about it. Derek didn’t like it, either way. 

“Great,” he said dryly, running a hand over his face. “If you can’t even think of a gift for her, I’m basically fucked.”

Stiles cocked his eyebrow in Derek’s direction. “If it’s that important to you, I can do my best to help you out. Do you even have the slightest ballpark of an idea?”

Derek shook his head. “No. I tried looking online, but…”

“Well don’t do that!” Stiles interrupted. “That’s going in blind. No, you have to have things in front of you to get ideas. Pick me up tomorrow, we’ll go out to the mall and figure something out.”

Derek glared. “Why am I picking you up? The loft is closer to the mall, Stiles.”

Stiles grinned. Derek’s heart sped up. “Because otherwise, you have to be seen in public riding shotgun in old Betty. Besides, man. Camaro.”

Derek rolled his eyes, surprised that they hadn’t started aching from all of the strenuous eye-rolling activity that usually occurred when in the same room as Stiles for this long. “Fine. I’ll pick you up at 11. Be ready to go.” He made his way back to the window, expecting a quip or complaint about having to get up in the morning over school break. 

Instead, he got an “Aye aye, Captain Buttercup! Sleep tight. I hope you catch all of the cute bunny rabbits and gophers in dreamland.” Derek smiled in spite of himself before closing the window behind him. 

Before he went to sleep later that night, he shot off a quick text. 

**"Stiles?"**

_"yeah?"_

**"Don’t call me Buttercup."**

_"noted"_


	2. Chapter 2

Derek never gave Stiles enough credit for being a semi-responsible, somewhat put-together 17-year old teenage boy. When Derek pulled up in front of the Stilinski household the following morning just shy of 11 a.m., Stiles was sitting on the porch scrolling through his phone, knees bouncing quickly. He practically bounded to the Camaro as Derek was rolling to a stop. Stiles grinned broadly at Derek as he buckled his seatbelt, and Derek positively did not sigh internally. 

“You seem...chipper,” Derek commented, turning the car back the way he came.

“And why wouldn’t I be? It’s a beautiful morning, you’re having an existential crisis about a Christmas present, and I get to see what you look like against a backdrop of Beacon Hills plebeians at the _mall_. You’re kind of like a teacher, Derek. You don’t really exist in my mind outside of dark, gloomy places or places where someone is bleeding. Just like teachers can only exist within the walls of the schools that they haunt.”

“Well, gee golly Stiles. Thanks,” Derek deadpanned, a little bit stung.

“No, no! Not like, in a bad way. I kind of messed that up, man. I’m just...I’m hyped to be spending some time with you doing something that doesn’t put your life in mortal peril, is all.”

When Derek looked over to gauge Stiles’ expression, he found Stiles gazing out of the window instead of looking at him. Derek decided to let it go, turning up the radio in place of continuing the conversation about whatever it was that Stiles was trying to say.

Derek’s stomach dropped when they pulled into the Beacon Hills mall. He should have known that trying to go anywhere retail related a week before Christmas was going to be a nightmare. He admired the way that Stiles hopped out of the car and just started meandering towards the entrance as though the building wasn’t a threatening oasis of greedy, rude people. He set his jaw, got out of the car, and jogged until he caught up with Stiles at the entrance.

They didn’t really speak so much as bump into each other constantly as they tried to stay in the same proximity as they weaved in and out of the throngs of people down the mall’s main corridors. Derek focused on the soft redness of Stiles’ hoodie, and allowed himself a momentary meltdown in his head before reaching out and twisting his fist into the fabric on Stiles’ back. He was rewarded with a surprised grin that Stiles threw over his shoulder before coming to a screeching halt.

While Derek may not have minded banging into Stiles’ back in certain other situations, he hopped away in embarrassment and shot Stiles a low growl. “A little warning would have been nice, Stiles.”

Stiles waved him away vaguely, too engrossed in whatever the hell caught his eye to give Derek the time of day. Derek watched him with some amusement as he pulled a quarter out of his pocket and deposited it into one of the many quarter toy machines lined up against the corridor wall. 

_This kid? This kid is where you’ve decided to place your affections? ohmyGOD_

“Aww, this will only take a second and then we’ll be off on our treasure hunt. Cheer up, Buttercup! Oh no, no, I remember your rule, no more Buttercup, so let’s make it…” Stiles popped off the top to the small plastic sphere in his hand, withdrew and unfolded a white sheet of plastic, and proceeded to let loose a loud startle of laughter paired with a blinding grin that made Derek’s insides twist.

“Cheer up, Honey Bunches!”

The twisting in Derek’s belly intensified, and he was momentarily speechless. His eyes shot over to the quarter machine; temporary tattoos, all of them stenciled with the most ridiculous, cutesy terms of endearment that Derek had ever seen. 

“No, Stiles.”

Derek’s offended tone only made Stiles laugh more uproariously which honestly made it impossible for Derek to hold back his grin and he let loose a low chuckle. Stiles’ mouth dropped open in a surprised little ‘o’ and his expression only caused Derek to laugh harder.

“Derek!”

Derek turned around quickly and was met with a bright flash of light as he heard Isaac exclaim “Say cheese!” 

Thrown _(why was Isaac there?)_ , Derek worked to wipe the smile from his face as he straightened his jacket. “Hey, Isaac. Scott.” Derek nodded in their direction now that he was able to see without spots of light hindering his vision. He knew getting the Polaroid camera for Isaac’s birthday earlier in the year would come back to haunt him. _He loves it, though_ , Derek chided himself, allowing himself to feel a little bit pleased that Isaac was rarely seen without the thing.

“Hey Derek, hey...Stiles?” Scott quirked his head a bit, looking like a confused puppy. _Appropriate._ “What are you guys doing here?”

“Probs the same as you guys. Super Secret Santa Shopping! Am I right?” Stiles was suddenly right at Derek’s side, the warmth of him soaking into Derek’s jacket. He somehow resisted the urge to move away. Baby steps, acting human, intimacy with friends, and all that.

“Yeah. I mean, Isaac’s making his present, but I’m at a loss for mine. He’s helping me out.” Scott smiled at Isaac fondly. Derek felt glad that Isaac was forming more bonds within the pack. Living with Erica and Boyd for the past few months had probably helped with that, and Derek was happy that he had insisted on paying the rent on a loft big enough for the three of them.

“Yep, total samesies, my main man. This one’s hopeless,” Stiles joked, nudging Derek, “so you know, I’m just saving his ass, as per usual. Speaking of, ready to go, Honey Bunches?”

Derek gaped, but not as hard as Scott. Isaac simply grinned, not taking his eyes off of Derek, who tried to make his glare as threatening as possible. Isaac grinned wider. Derek was able to see Scott turn and mouth ‘Honey Bunches?’ silently to Isaac before he was being pushed away and back into the stampede of shoppers by Stiles.

“Bye Dad! Bye Mom!” Isaac called after them. _He’s the worst._

“Make good choices!” Stiles called back, still leading Derek by his shoulder into a nearby store. _Nope, Stiles. Stiles is the worst._

*

Two hours and four stores later, Derek was still at ground zero concerning his gift for Lydia, and yet wasn’t feeling the same panic as he had been the night before. That probably had something to do with Stiles, who had somehow managed to talk for two hours straight as they weaved in and out of aisles filled with shoes, makeup, clothes, and handbags. Nothing was jumping out at Derek that screamed Lydia’s name ( _stop with the Banshee jokes, you’re as bad as Stiles_ ), but the sound of Stiles’ voice and the light pressure of his hand on Derek’s shoulder or back as he guided them around grounded him, made him feel calm.

“Stiles, I don’t think this is the right avenue to go down. Lydia has an endless supply of all of this...fashion stuff. I want to get her something a little bit more meaningful than...whatever that is.” Derek motioned towards the spongy looking makeup appliance that Stiles was currently smushing in his hand.

Stiles let out a mock exasperated sigh. “I should have known that this wouldn’t be easy peasy, what with you being a secret softie and wanting things to be meaningful and sentimental. God Derek, why can’t you just go back to being the quiet scary wolf that we all thought hated everybody? That way you could just give Lyds a stocking full of coal and teeth and all would be well and I could be done shopping because my feet hurt and these lights are killing my head, dude, why do you think they choose such-"

“Shut up, Stiles.” There was no heat behind Derek’s words. Stiles visibly clamped his mouth shut, wincing as he did so. Derek frowned. “Is your head really hurting? Because you’re right, the fluorescents are a bit much.”

Stiles smiled, small and shy. “A little bit? Not, like, 'I’m a damsel in distress and need an ambulance pain,' but maybe more of a 'I should probably eat something and pop an Ibuprofen' type of pain? Sorry, I didn’t really eat this morning. Nerves and such.”

Derek felt confused. “Why were you nervous?” He followed Stiles out of the store and towards the food court.

Stiles swallowed. He smelled a little scared. Derek’s confusion deepened. 

“You know. I mean, don’t you? This is the first time you and I are doing something together, just the two of us. The thought was a little nerve-wracking because we haven’t exactly been, like, friends or whatever.” Derek opened his mouth defensively, and Stiles cut him off by pressing a finger against Derek’s lips. “And no, the time in the pool or me getting ready to hack off your arm do not count as one-on-one Stiles and Derek happy-fun hanging out times. Just, no.”

Derek batted Stiles’ hand away from his mouth ( _Stiles TOUCHED my MOUTH_ ) and scoffed. “Fine. I wasn’t going to, anyway. But Stiles, you’re my pack. We don’t need a reason to spend time together. Forget being _friends_ , that’s...you’re _pack_. That’s...better.” Derek was glad that Stiles had stubbornly remained human, as he couldn’t pick up on Derek’s heart pounding in his chest. Derek didn’t talk about feelings, but this sure felt like he was talking about feelings. With Stiles. 

Stiles’ heart tripped up a bit, and Derek noticed that his heart rate was slightly elevated. Stiles was quiet for a moment, before nodding his head once, grabbing Derek’s wrist, and tugging him towards the Chinese food stand in the food court.

“Got it. No nerves, we’re best-wolfie-family-pals now, everyone has good feels and you’re going to buy me sweet and sour chicken. C’mon, Honey Bunches, I’m starved.”

*

“I’m glad, by the way, that you don’t think that way about me, anymore.”

Derek spoke as Stiles was getting out of the Camaro in front of his house. They had shopped around a bit more after lunch, had come to the conclusion that whatever Derek was going to get for Lydia wasn’t to be found at the Beacon Hills Mall, and had made plans for the next day to try the downtown area instead to scout out the locally owned shops. Derek had been debating on bringing this up to Stiles ever since he had mentioned it earlier in the day and surprised himself by actually letting himself put it out there.

Stiles froze as he was getting out of the car, before jumping back down in to the seat and closing the car door behind him. “What do you mean?”

Derek internally groaned. He shouldn’t have said anything. Of course Stiles already forgot, he probably didn’t consider it to be a big deal. 

Honesty was a good basis for any relationship, right? “Back at the mall. You said that you used to think that I was scary and that I hated everyone, but now you realize that that’s not true. At least I think that’s what you were shooting for. And I’m just glad. That’s all.”

Stiles stared at him, unblinking. Derek heard him swallow, watched him wet his bottom lip with his tongue, leaving it shiny and pink. _Christ._ The tangy smell from the night before was back, overwhelming Derek’s senses. It made him think of citrus, limes and lemons and oranges. Derek wanted to _taste._

Almost as if suddenly becoming aware that he was staring, Stiles blinked rapidly two, three times, before flashing a genuine smile at Derek. “No biggie, dude. I’m, ah, I’m glad that you’re glad? And I mean, I’m glad you were able to stomach me for almost an entire day, man. You deserve a medal. Hopefully you won’t get sick of me, I mean we don’t have to do it again tomorrow if it’s too much Stiles time because you know, I do recognize there’s such a thing as-”

“I’m looking forward to it, Stiles. Now get out of my car.” Derek let himself smile at Stiles, who let out a huff of breath before sliding out of the car and closing the door behind him. 

Derek had just parked in front of the loft when his phone chimed. 

_“so Buttercup was a no-go, how are you feeling about honey bunches?”_

**”Not my favorite.”**

_”10-4, buddy. I'll get it right eventually”_


	3. Chapter 3

“I have 5 days left until Christmas Eve, Stiles. I don’t have time for this.” Regardless of the words coming out of his mouth, Derek held the door open for Stiles to go into the coffee shop.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Derek. This will take two minutes, tops. I needs my caffeine, man. I know you exist to constantly work out and consume energy bars and probably protein shakes because Jesus, look at you, but I on the other hand need this addiction to function. You’re not going to deny me this, are you?” Stiles babbled, twisting his neck around to bat his _longincrediblethick_ eyelashes at Derek. 

“Shut up, Stiles. Order your damn coffee.” Derek spat as though on autopilot, scanning the chalk menu behind the counter. Stiles scoffed.

“I can’t. Gotta wait my turn, because lines.”

Derek rolled his eyes and with his selection made, refocused his attention on the people in line ahead of them. A teenage boy and girl were at the counter, the boy looking flustered, heart beating frantically in Derek’s ears. He focused on the boy’s muttered voice, “I know I brought that five with me, this is so embarrassing, oh my god…” The girl was looking at him almost sympathetically, her cheeks flushed and her bottom lip red from biting. _This is a trainwreck. I can’t watch this._

“I’ve got their order, ma’am. It’s on me,” Derek intervened, stepping closer to the counter and addressing the barista. She flashed him a grateful smile, and the teenage boy looked up to him in wonder. 

“Oh no, hey, you don’t have to…” the boy started, the girl shaking her head up at Derek.

“It’s fine. Take your coffee, enjoy your date. Uh, Merry Christmas? Or Happy whatever-you-celebrate, I guess.” Derek made a shooing motion with his hands until the kids stated their gratitude and moved down to the opposite end of the counter to wait for their drinks.

“I’ll have an Americano, please, and whatever he’s having,” Derek said, turning towards Stiles for his order. He found Stiles still standing a few feet back, frozen in place, jaw hanging stupidly open. “What is your problem?” Derek bristled. Stiles clamped his mouth closed, shook his head.

“You. You’re a big old sweetheart, Derek Hale. Just what the hell am I supposed to do with that information? How do I go on from here? It’s not like I can just order my coffee, go about my day, no, go about my _life_ with the knowledge that Derek Hale is secretly an awkward-teenage-date-saving, coffee buying heroic fucking _sweetheart_!” Stiles had made his way up to the counter and was positively _beaming_ at Derek. Stiles turned to the barista. “Was that not incredibly sweet?”

The barista cocked an amused eyebrow in Stiles’ direction. “Sure was. You’ve got yourself a keeper,” she said, eyes flicking back to Derek. 

Derek groaned. “Don’t encourage him,” he plead with her, shaking his head. “Just make him order something so he’ll stop talking.” He elbowed Stiles in the ribs.

“Ow! Fine. I’ll have an extra-large triple-shot caramel macchiato, please. And he’s paying, aren’t you, Sweetheart?” Stiles’ voice went straight to Derek’s belly, a bolt of electricity that made him shudder at Stiles’ phrasing. Derek tried to hide it with his very best eye-roll and scowl combination as he extended his credit card towards the cashier.

_He’s going to kill me before the day is over._

*

It was hopeless. Derek was just going to wind up buying Lydia an Amazon gift card like a terrible, terrible Alpha, and the guilt would follow him until his dying day. Because shopping for her was fucking impossible. They were in the last store on the corner of the downtown stretch, having skipped some of them (“I don’t think Lydia needs a new set of luggage, Stiles.” “Umm, Derek, we should probably skip the sex toy shop, no?”) and having already searched the rest for something that stood out to them as being Lydia-esque. Basically, they were shit out of luck, it was 4 in the afternoon, and Derek was about ready to hang it up and admit defeat.

“C’mon, it’s only been two days of looking! And not even a full two days, but more like a total of 7 hours,” Stiles said, putting down a set of cameo earrings. “You can’t just throw in the towel already. Besides, even if you were going to go down the gift card route, an Amazon gift card Derek, really? That’s only an appropriate gift for, like, your mailman or someone else you know absolutely nothing about. Don’t be insulting.”

Derek knew he was right, and he hated him for it but didn’t care. At that moment in time, the dust inside of the antique shop was tickling his nose and throat and the smell of _old_ was overpowering his senses. He opened his mouth to respond to Stiles and wound up sneezing instead. Loudly. Multiple times in a row.

Stiles howled with laughter. “Oh my God! I didn’t even know that you could sneeze! That was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

Derek held up his hand. “That’s where I’m stopping you. You already threw a fit at the coffee shop because apparently being a decent human being makes me sweet, but now you’re calling me adorable? Who are you and where is Stiles? What ever happened to calling me a jerk, or an ass, or Sourwolf?”

Stiles looked pleased at the fact that Derek remembered that particular quip. “This is so much more fun, though. Saying nice things to you, because who doesn’t like nice things?” Stiles put down something else that he had been fidgeting with and took a step towards Derek. “Besides,” Stiles continued, his voice a little bit quieter, more hesitant. “You haven’t told me to stop. With the names. Well, with Buttercup, sure, but that one wasn’t even on purpose. I think...I think you might like them?” It was posed like a question, and Derek felt his palms start to sweat. 

_He’s calling me pet names on purpose. WHY is he calling me pet names on purpose?_

“Why are you calling me pet names on purpose?” he blurted, because he couldn’t really ignore the thought once it was in his head. He thought the stupid names were just another one of Stiles’ endless jokes that he didn’t really realize he was making. 

Stiles hesitated, squared his shoulders, and shrugged one of them. “Because I want to. Because it feels…” and oh, there it was. The vulnerability, the smell of fear, the rabbiting heart. Derek’s mouth went dry and he remained still, unable to move a muscle, afraid of scaring Stiles away.

_It’s time to maybe stop ignoring those signs you’ve been ignoring, jackass_ , Derek thought to himself, a bubble of hope blossoming in his chest.

“It feels what, Stiles?” Derek pushed, softly. 

Stiles opened his mouth to respond and not a millisecond later, a shrill alarm started sounding overhead. Both of them jumped, startled out of the moment, and spun around to face the godawful noise.

_This isn’t happening. This only happens in movies. This is the shittiest timing in the history of timing._

“Sorry folks, sorry! Tripped the alarm system, I did. Didn’t mean to set it, still learning, you know? Do either one of you maybe know how to shut this thing off?” It was the antique shop owner, an old man wearing glasses too large for his face, and he was squinting at what appeared to be a newly installed alarm control panel near the front door. Stiles squeezed past Derek to go and help, trailing his hand down Derek’s front as he did. 

Derek simply stood in place, trying to remember how to breathe as Stiles shut off the damn alarm. 

*

“No. Give us one more day, dude. There’s a bookstore not too incredibly far, maybe an hour or so East, with some legitimate scholarly options. You didn’t want to do the girly clothes or makeup thing, and apparently locally made jams or antiques don’t strike you as good enough for her, either, but this might be the golden ticket. She’s smart. You know it, I know it, I wish Jackson knew it, and a nice fat book in a language that I don’t understand might be perfect, right?” Stiles posed the question as though he thought Derek was going to berate him for the idea.

Derek wasn’t going to berate Stiles. Derek wanted to kiss Stiles, more so than usual, because _of course_ focusing on Lydia’s intellect was the right answer. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Besides, why would he try to talk either of them out of spending another day together, let alone another day that consisted of being locked away in an enclosed car with the scent of Stiles everywhere?

“That’s a good idea, Stiles. Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?”

Stiles shot Derek a pained grimace from the passenger side seat of the Camaro as they pulled up to the Stilinski house. “No can do, Der-Bear…”

“Oh, hell no, Stiles. Just, not ever again.”

“...okay, retracting the Der-Bear, that one’s been blacklisted. Anywho, Scott’s going with me tomorrow to help me out with my own Secret Santa gift after which he and I are going to spend a beautiful evening together slaughtering zombies on his X-Box. But how about the day after tomorrow? I know it’s cutting it close, but I’m pretty sure we won’t be leaving the bookstore empty-handed.” Stiles looked at him, a hopeful expression on his face. 

Derek felt disappointed and then felt stupid for it. “Of course. No obligation. And you can always tell me where to find the store, Stiles, you don’t have to come with,” Derek offered, trying to give Stiles an out, much like Stiles had done the day before.

Almost immediately, Stiles shook his head. “Uh-uh, no way, no how. I’m seeing this through until the end. When a Stilinski starts a job, a Stilinski finishes a job. Sorry, pal.” Stiles reached over and patted at Derek’s chest with his hand. The casual nature of the small gesture made Derek feel warm inside.”By the way, before I forget, I need the key to your loft,” Stiles continued, before snapping his fingers at Derek and making a ‘gimme’ motion with his hands.

“Wait. Why?” Derek asked, feeling thrown for a loop.

“It’s a thing I need, for my present. You’ll see on Christmas Eve. C’mon, you can use the spare under the mat until I see you on Thursday. I’ll give your key back then?” 

Derek only paused for a moment before buckling, taking the keys out of the ignition and removing the key to his loft, tossing it over to Stiles. “Anything else, your Majesty?” He asked Stiles, reinserting the key in the ignition. 

“Uh, thanks, and yeah actually, I’ll come and pick you up this time,” Stiles said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Best way to the store involves some dirt roads, and I wouldn’t want to see you cry because your car got dusty. Besides, I think Betty feels neglected.” 

Derek frowned. “Stiles, you’re an idiot.”

Instead of getting angry or showing any annoyance whatsoever, Stiles simply smiled. “Aww, but you see, I get the feeling that that means something else coming from you as opposed to anybody else, now. I’m onto you, ya big lug. Thanks for the coffee and letting me tag along again. I’ll pick you up early on Thursday, 9 o’clock okay?” Stiles’ leg was bouncing as he spoke and Derek fought the urge to place his hand on Stiles’ knee. 

“Sounds good, Stiles. Enjoy your day tomorrow,” Derek said, surprising himself with how sincere he sounded. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he just maintained eye contact with Derek for a few beats longer than usual. Derek, while he felt a little bit awkward, refused to reject the opportunity to gaze back into the whiskey color of Stiles’ eyes. Stiles, apparently having decided against saying whatever was on his mind, opened the car door and climbed out. Before closing the car door he stuck his head back in and flashed a blinding-white smile at Derek.

“See you Thursday! Toodles, Sweetheart,” Stiles said, a little too loudly and a little too rushed, before closing the door and jogging up to his porch. 

*

Derek waiting a few hours before he got antsy enough to text Stiles first this time, in what was becoming a ritual that Derek could absolutely, 100% get behind.

**”So how attached are you to the term Sweetheart?”**

_”I might be able to be persuaded against its continued usage, why do you ask? not a fan of that one either?”_

Derek hesitated and worried his bottom lip with his teeth before typing out his response and hitting send before he could talk himself out of it.

**”I think I want to see what else you can come up with.”**

_”oh”_  
_”consider me persuaded”_

**”Good. Okay. Goodnight, Stiles.”**

_”nighty night, my dearest Derek”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I have 6 siblings and a brother-in-law who are all getting Amazon gift cards for Christmas and they're going to love them, okay?


	4. Chapter 4

Derek could smell Stiles pulling up to the loft before he could see or hear the Jeep approaching. The spicy-sweetness was becoming a permanent fixture for Derek, from practically wearing Stiles home with him on his clothes and the scent of Stiles that clung to the surface of the seats in the Camaro. If Derek had taken a slow and aimless drive the day before simply to feel surrounded by Stiles, well, nobody had to know. Nobody had to know that after spending 3 days with Stiles, Derek had _missed_ him the day before. Really. Nobody ever, ever had to find out that Derek spent a day licking the wound that was longing for Stiles’ presence.

“Morning, Der! Glad to see you man, I sorta missed you yesterday.” Stiles gave Derek a lopsided smile as he buckled himself into the Jeep.

“Oh...huh. I...me, too,” Derek fumbled his words, taken aback by how forthcoming Stiles could be with his thoughts and feelings. _Dammit, Stiles_.

The ride to the bookstore was a pleasant one, filled with endless chatter from the driver’s seat and gas station donut holes provided by Stiles for breakfast. Derek allowed himself to close his eyes and lean his head back as he listened to Stiles talk about spending the day with Scott. Derek drifted in and out of a light sleep as Stiles talked about Scott’s continuous pining over Allison, his kill streak on X-Box the night before, and how Scott had spent far too much time complaining about how much Stiles smelled like Derek.

Actually, that part caught his attention. 

“What do you mean, he complained about my scent?” Derek asked, opening his eyes and turning towards Stiles, who was pulling into a small parking lot behind an even smaller single story brick building. Stiles shrugged.

“I mean just that. He did that adorable nose-crinkle when he opened the door for me, asked me if I had been rolling around with you in the woods. He said, and I’m quoting here, Derek, he said “you smell like he splashed himself all over you.” I really don’t think Scott thinks before he speaks sometimes, either that or he was just trying his hardest to give me enough distracting imagery to focus on so that he could kick my ass at zombies all night,” Stiles said, before hopping out of the Jeep and closing the door. Which was a good thing, because Derek was pretty sure his mouth was hanging wide open at, well, everything that Stiles had just said.

Derek wasn’t stupid, and neither was his wolf. It had always been so easy to pick up on Stiles’ attraction to him, just like it had always been easy to pick up Lydia’s attraction, and Erica’s. Occasionally even Jackson’s scent spiked with arousal and want if he paid enough attention to Derek’s body during training. Derek understood that objectively, he was good looking, and that his body type tended to attract a large number of people on a regular basis. He had always chalked up Stiles as just being one of those people who found him good looking and fit.

He had never dared to think that Stiles could possibly _feel_ for Derek the way that he felt for Stiles. But Stiles kept _saying things_ , and _flirting_ , and using _pet names_ , and _maybe he actually likes you, you self-loathing idiot._

Stiles was already inside the store before Derek snapped out of his stupor and got out of the Jeep. Derek wondered what would happen if he started flirting back, if he maybe used his words to try to express himself instead of his eyebrows and fangs. 

_What would happen if I just let myself be?_

When he tracked Stiles down inside the store, he stood at the end of the aisle and simply watched Stiles skimming a row of book spines in front of him, mumbling about ancient languages under his breath. Stiles was wearing a blue t-shirt beneath a sea-green thick wool hoodie, and just the sight of him in those calming colors, his eyes sparkling and hair flopping everywhere as he was so focused on finding a book for Lydia ( _focused on helping me_ ) was enough to loosen something in Derek’s chest. Derek stepped up beside Stiles as quietly as possible, and cleared this throat before speaking.

“Finding anything good, babe?” he asked, keeping his voice low and steady despite his heart hammering almost painfully in his chest.

“There are some good selections here, all of them in Latin, or there is an entire section on Mathema-” Stiles stopped speaking so suddenly that Derek absently wondered whether he had triggered a mute function. Stiles’ voice was replaced with the sound of his heart skipping erratically and a bright burst of the citrusy smell that was becoming somewhat addicting to Derek. 

“Stiles? Mathematics? I’m assuming that’s the word you’re looking for,” Derek said, trying and failing to bite back a cocky smile. “Where’s that section? That sounds pretty promising.”

Stiles whipped around to glare at Derek. “Are you aware of what you just did? Because I don’t know what would be more fantastic-slash-terrifying, if you just experienced a Freudian slip or if you’re just an evil, calculating monster who really wants to see me dead on the ground of heart failure.” 

Derek rolled his eyes. “You are the biggest drama queen I’ve ever met, Stiles,” he exclaimed, stepping further down the aisle and finding the Mathematics books not too far down. “I just did to you what you’ve been doing to me for the last few days.”

Stiles spluttered and flailed towards Derek, as he was want to do. “Different! It’s different when you do it, and how unfair is it that the very first thing you ever call me besides my name and some variation of ‘idiot’ is like, the one that, you know…” Stiles trailed off, breaking eye contact. Derek didn’t have to guess where Stiles was going with his sentence, because Derek’s senses were absolutely surrounded by Stiles’ arousal. 

“The one that turns you on?” Derek murmured, forcing himself to keep his gaze on Stiles’ face, which flooded with a red flush that was _just damn gorgeous._

“Ugh,” Stiles choked out before covering his face with his hands. “I hate you and your wolfy spidey-senses.”

“I don’t think you do, Stiles,” Derek responded before turning back to the shelf and...there it was.

“Well, your suggestion was a good one,” Derek said, plucking a thick and heavy leather bound book off of the shelf. “This one screams Lydia.” Stiles groaned loudly without looking up from where his hands were still covering his face.

“And Derek Hale is making banshee jokes. I have to be dreaming.” Stiles sounded pained and Derek felt like he was high on life. He leaned down, his lips close to Stiles’ ear.

“You’re wide awake,” he stated lightly, before turning away and taking the book up to the counter to pay, unable to wipe the smile off of his face.

*

The nicest thing about Stiles was that he was always so incredibly awkward all the time and therefore Derek never felt awkward when he was around him. The drive back to Beacon Hills from the bookstore was equally as pleasant and comfortable as the drive out had been, regardless of Stiles’ heart rate never fully returning to normal and the tinge of lemon and oranges in the air. Derek could hardly believe his own boldness at the bookstore and was reveling in how good it had felt to just let himself say what he wanted to say. If anything, Stiles’ level of attraction to him had all but been confirmed, even if it didn’t help him decipher how Stiles actually felt about him. If Derek was honest with himself, he didn’t think he was ready to know, anyways. 

Naturally, because it was his specialty, _not being able to leave well enough alone_ , Stiles was the one to bring it up once they had made it back to Derek’s loft, Stiles having apparently decided to follow Derek up there instead of simply dropping him off. 

“So what does it smell like, anyway?” Stiles asked, plopping himself down on Derek’s couch. Derek sat down beside him, leaving plenty of space between them lest he be tempted to maul the 17-year-old ( _he’ll be 18 next month!_ ) who was sitting in his loft, smelling and looking delicious, asking questions that were no doubt related to Derek’s werewolf senses. 

“Specifics, Stiles.”

“You’re going to make me say it, okay then, why not. What does it smell like when I get...you know. When my motor’s running, when I’m raring to go, when all the blood rushes to my dick?”

“Oh my God Stiles,” Derek blurted out, because he wasn’t prepared to have a discussion about Stiles’ dick. “Why can’t you ask questions like a normal person?” Derek huffed, before moving forward with an answer. “Arousal smells like the person feeling aroused, but sharper, more pungent, and a little tangy.”

“Huh. So what do I smell like?” Stiles asked, now just looking intrigued instead of mildly shy. Derek thought for a moment.

“You smell like the things on your body, on the surface. Your laundry detergent, hair gel, your deodorant. That one lingers for awhile since it soaks into your skin every day, and the one you use is pretty spicy, like cloves. Beneath your surface smell, you always smell pretty sweet. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it, really. It’s almost like the smell of sugar cookies when they’re just pulled out of an oven. Oh, and when you get a little nervous or maybe it’s when you’re feeling hopeful, you smell like citrus. Lemons, limes, oranges, you know. When you’re aroused, you still smell like all of those things but it’s brighter, more concentrated.” Derek stopped, having not intended to wax poetic about Stiles’ smell to Stiles himself.

And Stiles simply looked floored. “Der,” he stated flatly, and Derek really didn’t mind being called that, “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you speak at one time. About anything. So A for effort on that explanation, and another one of your secrets is out because now I know that all of our conversations don’t have to be so pathetically one sided.” Stiles paused for a moment. “I’m content with being my plain jane human self, but I gotta say that that’s pretty cool, being able to have such a strong sense of smell. What do you smell like?”

Derek smiled without meaning to. “I smell like my family. I smell like the woods and the soil, like all of us did. Laura used to say that I also smelled like campfires and roasted marshmallows, on top of it.”

Stiles grins, and it’s brilliant. “You’re a werewolf who smells like camping. You can’t make that stuff up.” Derek chuckled lightly, warmth settling into his bones. 

Stiles wasn’t finished. “So, I smell like cloves and cookies and citrus-ey fruits, and you smell like the outdoors and fire and marshmallows. No wonder Scott was so offended at the smell of you on me. Our combined scent must be a clusterfuck.”

Derek made a sound of objection in his throat that caused Stiles to raise a questioning eyebrow.

“That’s not the way it works, Stiles. Combined scents become something on their own. You and I, we smell like...celebration. Like sugar and firework smoke.” 

Stiles smiled softly at the description. “So our scent, eau-de-Derek-and-Stiles, sounds pretty awesome and kind of cozy.”

Derek’s heart beat sweet and lazy in his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s a good thing.”

*

Derek was nearly asleep later that night when his phone went off near his head. Groggy, he opened the screen and saw a text from Stiles.

_”so you got it in one with the pet name, and I think I was in too much shock to even try any new terms of endearment on you today which is completely unfair. can I try again tomorrow?”_

**”I found Lydia’s gift today, Stiles. We don’t have plans for tomorrow.”**

_”can we?”_

**”What did you have in mind?”**  
**”The answer is yes, you just tell me where and when, I guess.”**

_”your willingness to blindly leave all decisions to me is pretty sexy, I gotta say. I have something that we can do, for the pack gift exchange on sunday, if you want. I can bring all necessities to your place in the morning if that’s cool”_  
_”and also I forgot to bring your key back for you today. I can bring that with me in the morning”_

**”I shudder to think what you have in mind, but I trust it’s not something that will blow up the loft, so that’s fine. Bring whatever to the loft in the morning. You can use the key to let yourself in.”**  
**”And you should just keep the key.”**

_”yeah?”_

**”Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow Stiles.”**

_”yeah”_  
_”sweet dreams, baby”_

**”Goodnight, babe.”**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am incapable of letting fluff exist without some kind of turmoil. I'm a terrible person.

After what Derek would consider to be an embarrassing amount of contemplation, he decides to stay in bed until Stiles arrives. He had considered waking up early to shower, shave, pick out nice clothes, and tidy up the loft, but had decided against all of that. He told himself it was because Stiles visiting the loft wasn’t a huge ordeal, so why would he make it into one, when in reality part of him was curious as to what Stiles would do if he walked in on a sleepy, half dressed Derek in bed. The other part of him wanted to make believe that this could be his life, one day. Stiles using his own key to come home to Derek in the morning as Derek slept, or at night as Derek prepared to go to bed.

_Let him graduate high school in the Spring before asking the guy to move in with you Derek, Jesus Christ._

Derek couldn’t even parse out if Stiles had those kinds of feelings about him. A week ago, they had been pack mates who tolerated each other with begrudging mutual respect and snarky affection. Sure, Derek had been slowly and steadily falling for Stiles over the last few months, and Stiles was obviously attracted to him, but he knew that he shouldn’t be building himself up for some grand romance just because Stiles had spent a few days with him, flirting and treating him like a friend. Stiles flirted with everyone and treated everyone like a friend. 

_But he doesn’t call everyone baby,_ Derek told himself.

Derek got his answer as to what Stiles would do about 20 minutes after he woke up. It was barely morning, the light just starting to spill in through the tall windows when Derek heard Stiles ascending the stairs from the first floor. Stiles scent became more prominent the closer he got to Derek’s loft, and Derek felt his heart rate pick up as he listened to Stiles fumble with his key at the door. 

With the floor plan to the loft being so open, Derek was able to watch Stiles stumble into the room, grocery bags in hand which he set on the floor before turning to close the door behind him. His eyes followed Stiles as he dragged the bags into the small kitchen area before unzipping his hoodie, placing it on the rack by the door, and finally turning in Derek’s direction. He looked as though he was preparing to call out to Derek until he laid his eyes on him, still laying in bed beneath his comforter, head on his pillow.

“De...oh.” Stiles’ ‘oh’ came out with a whoosh, as though he had lost all of the air in his lungs. Derek took in the sight of him, eyes wide; the smell of him, heavy citrus and want; the sound of him, fast staccato heartbeat and small burst of breath. “Did I wake you?” Stiles asked in a whisper.

Derek smiled. “No, Stiles. Every werewolf within a five mile radius probably heard you clomping up the stairs.” Stiles blanched. Derek laughed warmly before throwing the comforter off and rolling out of bed. “I’m kidding. But no, you didn’t. I’ve been awake for awhile. I am a little surprised to see you here so early, though.” Derek walked past Stiles to make his way into the bathroom, and didn’t miss the way that Stiles swallowed as he did so.

“So what is it that we’re doing, exactly?” Derek called from the bathroom before he started brushing his teeth. He heard Stiles approaching the open bathroom door and resisted looking over when Stiles leaned against the doorway.

“Well I don’t know about you, but I’m watching a werewolf-GQ model hybrid brush his teeth shirtless with absolutely obscene bedhead, and I could do this until I pretty much die, so ball's in your court, buddy.”

Derek snorted before spitting out his toothpaste and rinsing the brush. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to leave the bathroom. Stiles didn’t budge, so Derek just stood, crowding him against the doorframe. 

“We’ve reverted back to buddy, have we?” Derek teased. “I thought you could do better than that.”

Stiles’ face flushed before he muttered, “Pure evil. You’re evil. You’re a bad, bad man,” Stiles raised his voice as he continued, “and as punishment, you’re going to help me make Christmas cookies!” Stiles turned abruptly and headed back towards the kitchen, leaving Derek standing in the bathroom feeling confused and more than a little hesitant. He made sure to snatch a t-shirt to wear over his pajama pants before following Stiles into the kitchen. On instinct, he also grabbed an extra pair of pajama pants from his dresser to take with him. He tossed them to Stiles without a word when he entered the kitchen.

“Uh, thanks? But in case you missed it, I am indeed already wearing a perfectly acceptable pair of pants,” Stiles said, waving a hand at his jeans. Derek shook his head.

“No. If we’re baking Christmas cookies, you have to be in pajamas. Hale tradition.” The words left his mouth before he had a chance to swallow them back. While Stiles looked pleasantly surprised, Derek wagered that he looked equally shocked at the admittance. After a moment Stiles nodded and left the room, returning not a minute later in Derek’s pajama bottoms, which hung loosely from his lithe frame.

“Thanks, baby,” Stiles said softly, before shooting a small smile at Derek and moving towards the grocery bags on the counter. Warmth bloomed in Derek’s belly and he simply watched Stiles for a few minutes as he fiddled with the stove and pulled baking ingredients out of the grocery bags on the counter. Once everything was laid out, Stiles spun around with a gleam in his eye, clapped his hands together once, and exclaimed “So! Who’s ready to make some sugar cookies, Sugar Cookie?”

*

“You can’t fool me. The reindeer cookie cutter is your favorite cookie cutter because they remind you of tasty tasty woodland snacks,” Stiles joked lightly, pressing his own Christmas tree shaped cookie cutter into the thin film of dough that was flattened over the counter. “Leave it to you to make Christmas cookies into something murder related.”

Derek snorted. “You’re the only one talking about murder, you weirdo,” he said defensively before trading in the reindeer mold for one in the shape of a star. “There, are you happy now?”

“I bet if there was a moon-shaped cookie cutter you would have chosen that one over the star,” Stiles retorted, before chuckling to himself. Derek rolled his eyes.

“How is everything you say worse than whatever you said before it?” He asked Stiles jokingly. Stiles mocked offense, with the hand over his heart and the loud scoff and everything. 

“Derek Hale, you menace, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a fucking _delight._ ”

Derek flicked at Stiles’ ear as he maneuvered around him to put the next sheet of cookies into the oven. “Sure you are, babe,” he said happily as he swapped the new cookie sheet for the batch that was done baking. Derek startled when he turned around and nearly crashed into Stiles, who was simply standing and staring, his cheeks bright pink.

“You can’t just...say that!” Stiles exclaimed. 

Derek raised an eyebrow, perplexed. “Say what?”

Stiles gaped for a moment longer before collapsing into a fit of giggles. “Oh my GOD,” he choked out, laughing. “You don’t even realize that you did it, do you?!”

Derek floundered, playing back the last few moments in his head. When the realization dawned on him, he felt the tips of his ears heat up.

“Shut up, Stiles,” he mumbled before he started transferring the cookies to the cooling rack.

Stiles just kept laughing. “This is the best day of my life,” he stated firmly. Derek ducked his head to hide his smile.

*

“So is this something that you guys did a lot when you were a kid? Made Christmas cookies?”

Derek looked up from the cookie that he was frosting. Stiles continued applying sprinkles quite liberally to his own cookie, avoiding Derek’s gaze. Derek swallowed before answering.

“Every year, a few days before Christmas. Just like we’re doing now. My Mom wasn’t that into baking, it was my Dad’s thing, really. But she would always pull up a chair and watch the rest of us bake and decorate them.” Derek sat the cookie, now completed, down on the counter in front of him. “She would always choose the best one from each of us and would store them away for us to eat on Christmas morning.” He swallowed down a wave of grief and stopped talking, afraid his voice would break if he said another word. 

Derek watched as Stiles stilled before moving closer to him, sidling their shoulders together and gently moving Derek away from the counter. Stiles stood over the cookies for a moment before reaching out and choosing two of them. He opened a kitchen drawer, pulled out a sandwich baggie, sealed the cookies inside and placed them in the refrigerator.

“There,” he said, before he started piling the rest of the cookies into a large round tin. “Those were our best ones. I guess I’ll have to come and see you on Christmas morning, now.”

Stiles continued to pack away the rest of the cookies without meeting Derek’s eye, apparently completely unaware of what his actions and words were doing to Derek’s insides. Derek crossed his arms over his chest and held his sides with his own hands, as though he could hold himself up. As though he could stop the hot tears that were welling up under his closed eyelids.

“I hope we made enough for everybody, I know you guys can go through like a ton of food...whoa, whoa whoawhoa, Derek. Are you okay?”

And suddenly Stiles was there, _right there_ , and his hands were gripping Derek’s upper arms. Derek couldn’t make himself pry his eyes open.

“I’m so sorry if I upset you, I just...I wanted to do something nice for you, and maybe for them, for your family? I mean, I never got to meet them and I’ll never get to know them, but I think I’m getting to know you and that means getting to know them by extension, right? And they must have been pretty awesome, to have raised a wolf like you, and I know you must miss them so, so much Der, because I know what it’s like to miss my Mom and I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset you.” Stiles continued to babble as he tentatively wrapped his arms around Derek, who was still folded in on himself, trying with all of his strength not to burst out crying because Stiles was being so _wonderful_.

“It’s okay to cry, Derek. You can, darling, it’s okay.”

Derek froze and his eyes snapped open. He zeroed in on Stiles, on his worried face as Stiles let go of him and stepped backward. 

“Don’t call me that,” Derek bit out, the words burning his tongue. “You can’t call me that.” His vision burned blue for a moment, and it took hearing Stiles’ pulse skyrocket with panic to calm him ever so slightly. 

They stood there, a foot between them, draped in thick and painful silence for what must have been a full minute before Derek spoke again. 

“That was her name for my Dad. I don’t think I ever heard my Mom refer to him as anything else,” Derek eventually said, breaking the silence, “and that...it means something, Stiles.” Derek looked up to meet Stiles’ heavy gaze. “Whatever it is that’s been, shit, whatever it is that we’ve been doing has been fun, but I can’t let someone call me that who doesn’t...who doesn’t see me like she saw him.” Stiles closed his eyes at that, and the air reeked of guilt, and Derek knew then just how painfully one-sided his feelings were in that moment. 

_He can’t even look at you,_ Derek thought to himself, throat burning, _not without feeling guilty for just messing around. You’re so stupid, STUPID, for thinking this was anything but a joke._

“I think you should go, Stiles.”

Stiles’ chin trembled at that, and he opened his mouth to protest. “But Derek, I don’t think you understand-”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek cut him off and walked the few feet to the front door. He opened the door and held it open for Stiles. “I’m not angry. You don’t owe me an explanation. I just need a break, okay? I’ll see you on Christmas Eve.”

Stiles visibly deflated before nodding and swooping down to pick up his jeans that were heaped near the door. “I’ll bring your pants back then. And your key. I’m so sorry, Derek,” Stiles whispered the last four words before ducking out of the loft.

Derek listened to the sound of Stiles as he dragged himself down the stairs and into the Jeep. He listened to the rumble of the engine and he traced the sound of Stiles driving away until he couldn’t hear him any longer. Only when the sound of the Jeep and Stiles’ heart disappeared completely did Derek allow himself to cry.


	6. Chapter 6

Derek didn’t hear from Stiles at all between the cookie baking incident and the morning of Christmas Eve when the pack piled into the loft to exchange their gifts. Not that he had expected to after he had dealt with his onslaught of feelings by being _a raging asshole to the one person who has shown you absolute kindness in years, you absolute idiot._

Derek had spent the 48-hour interim at the loft, mostly in his bed where he had moped, beaten the hell out of his pillows in anger, cried, stopped himself a million times from texting Stiles, and moped some more. He cycled between being furious with Stiles for playing with his emotions and making him think that he cared about Derek _like that_ , and berating himself because he knew that he wasn’t owed anything from Stiles and that it wasn’t Stiles’ fault, not any of it. 

Derek knew that he had slept fitfully in between his emotional cycles, but when the time rolled around for the gift exchange he felt how he imagined humans must feel when they complained about being exhausted. The wolves, tactless as ever, made sure to point out to him that they could tell as they streamed into the loft.

“What the hell happened to you?” Erica asked, her eyebrows furrowing. Boyd didn’t comment as he trailed in behind her, but what else was new.

“Are you sick? I thought we couldn’t get sick. That’s bullshit,” Jackson huffed, gracious and selfless as ever. Lydia smacked him with her stiletto heel as she removed her shoes politely. 

“Derek, man, you don’t look so hot,” Scott commented. Allison, who trailed in behind him, had the forethought to keep her mouth closed and just shot him a concerned look instead.

Isaac showed up a minute later and didn’t say a word. He just walked up to Derek, cupped his hand around the back of Derek’s neck, and nuzzled into his shoulder for a few long moments. Derek felt some of his tension leak out of him and he smiled gratefully at Isaac.

 _Isaac is my favorite,_ he decided, _at least for today._

He had to change his mind 5 minutes later, however, when Stiles burst into the loft, the last one to arrive and 10 minutes late to boot. Derek felt his heart speed up and his skin flush as he watched Stiles flail about, tossing a bag into the corner and kicking off his shoes. When Stiles looked up and met Derek’s gaze, a conflicted pain shot up Derek’s spine.

_He looks worse than I do._

_Good._

_NO. Not good, you fucking asshole. You don’t want the people you love to be in pain._

And there it was. It washed over Derek like a warm breeze from his head to his toes, and for a moment the realization that he was in love with Stiles blanketed him in contentment before he remembered the scent of guilt hanging between them during their last conversation and _oh right, he doesn’t love me back._ Derek’s heart started to re-break and he looked away from Stiles.

However, it didn’t seem to matter to Stiles that he wasn’t in love with Derek, or that Derek had been a complete asshole to him a few short days ago, because all it took was one look at Derek to make Stiles walk up to him, clap Derek on the back twice, and state “I’m going to make us coffee, Sourwolf. Seems like we could both use some.”

Derek could only stare after him and think _oh, Stiles is definitely still my favorite._

*

Derek, though still tired and feeling drained, couldn’t be too grumpy about the Stiles situation at hand once the gift exchange started. The floor was soon littered with plates of half-eaten Christmas cookies and tongue-sharpened candy canes, mugs of coffee, and 9 pack members sitting in a wonky circle with wrapped packages in their laps, looking eager to start sharing their gifts. 

“Alright, Papa-Wolf, why don’t you get the party started?” Stiles quipped from across the circle from Derek, shooting him a small smile over the rim of his coffee mug. Derek internally groaned, but they had to start somewhere.

“Lydia,” he said, extending the gift-wrapped book towards her, “Merry Christmas.”

Lydia’s eyes shot up in surprise at the weight of the book and she grinned before she opened it. Once unwrapped, her grin grew a thousand watts brighter as she read the title out loud.

“The History of Female Influence on Modern Mathematics and Physical Sciences. Derek, this is badass. Thank you, sweetie.” 

Derek’s face warmed pleasantly. “You’re welcome. Stiles helped,” he said, flitting his gaze over to Stiles, who was grinning like an idiot.

Lydia’s eyebrow rose as she exclaimed, “Of course he did.” Derek snorted in response.

Derek’s heart continued to grow fonder and warmer with each gift exchanged around the circle. Lydia presented Erica with a pair of expensive-looking (but sturdy) combat boots, Erica teased Scott as he unwrapped the leather jacket from her (“now you can stop drooling over ours.”), and Scott passed over a long, skinny and terribly wrapped item to Boyd.

“I bet you can’t guess what this is!” Scott joked, and Boyd gave him an honest-to-God smile when he unwrapped the black and sleek-looking lacrosse stick. 

Allison gushed over her gold-plated arrowheads from Boyd, and Jackson immediately put on the reflective sunglasses handed over to him from Allison, ignoring the jokes that Stiles started cracking under his breath about douchebags wearing sunglasses inside. 

Derek’s interest peaked when Jackson handed over a small box to Stiles, and he congratulated himself for having called from the beginning that Jackson had drawn Stiles’ name. Stiles cautiously removed the top from the small unwrapped box, sifted through the tissue paper inside, and pulled out a small black canister. 

“It’s wolfsbane, in pepper spray form,” Jackson explained. “I had Deaton make it for you.”

Stiles looked lost, like he didn’t know what to do. Everyone was quiet for a moment until Stiles sprung from the floor, leaned over Scott, and smacked a loud kiss on Jackson’s cheek. 

“You’re such an asshole! You couldn’t have gotten me a tacky or rude gag gift, no, you had to get me something awesome and useful and disprove that you’re not the worst person on the planet!” Stiles crooned before mussing up Jackson’s hair. Everybody laughed as Jackson blushed.

“It’s only because you’re weak and can’t seem to stop almost getting yourself killed every 5 seconds by wolves outside of your pack,” Jackson grumbled, but Stiles beamed at him.

Derek knew by process of elimination that Stiles must have drawn Isaac, and Isaac must have drawn Derek himself. He watched with interest as Stiles held out a stack of 6 small jewelry boxes tied together with a red ribbon and scooted it towards Isaac. Isaac smiled despite looking perplexed, untied the ribbon, and opened the top box. He gazed inside of it and the confused look grew stronger. He pulled out a silver key, squinted at the head of it, and read the laser-cut inscription. “It says ‘Derek,’” he exclaimed. 

Stiles nodded. “Good reading skills, buddy. Keep it going.”

Isaac did as he was told and opened the next box, which held a bright pink key. “‘Lydia?’” He opened the next one, this one gold, “and ‘Stiles’,” he read. He looked up at Stiles. “What…?”

Stiles grinned, and Derek noticed everybody else around the circle smiling as well. “So, we all obviously know that you grew up in a shitty place that probably never felt safe, like a home should. Well, that's over now, and you have 6 other places besides your own that you are welcome to consider your home. We’re your family and you’re welcome to find a safe haven with any or all of us, at any time. There’s a copy of everyone’s key, and here.” Stiles fished something out of his pocket and tossed it at Isaac. Derek observed a key ring attached to a light blue carabiner.

Derek felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he couldn’t even be horrified at the prospect because everyone around the circle was bright-eyed as they watched Isaac practically leap into Stiles lap. Stiles laughed and stroked at Isaac’s hair as Isaac cried into his shirt. The moment was so perfect, and Derek couldn’t _breathe_ with how much he loved Stiles. Everyone else had seemed to expect what was coming, and a small piece of Derek suspected that Stiles had wanted this to be a surprise for him, as well.

“Alright, alright,” Stiles said after a few minutes, using his own thumbs to wipe the tears from Isaac’s cheeks before shoving him playfully away. “Keep that up and I won’t be able to continue on with the pretense that I dislike you for being a friend-stealing, scarf-wearing hipster. I’ve already showered Jackson with affection, and now you, so I’ve lost all cred and everybody knows that I’m a big soft werewolf lover who loves all of you werewolves. And ladies,” Stiles finished, nodding towards Lydia and Allison.

It took a moment for Isaac to regain his composure and to stop thanking Stiles over and over again, but once he did stop, he reached back behind him and grabbed a thin, square gift. He held it out towards Derek and sat back quickly when Derek took it from him, as though embarrassed.

Derek unwrapped the present gently, breaking away the paper at the seams. In his hands was a blank book of some kind, leatherbound and larger than a standard book. When he opened it up, he realized why.

“It’s a photo album,” he stated lamely. He heard a few of them snark at the obviousness of his comment, but he was too engrossed in the album to pay them any attention. He flipped through the pages slowly, taking in each individual photo. 

They were all photos of the pack, and Derek knew instantly that they had all been taken by Isaac. The polaroids spanned all the way back from the Spring, through the Summer, and into the Winter months. There were photos of training sessions, photos of the couples cuddling, a few pictures of the group on the beach over the Summer. Derek found himself in some of the photos, often in the background, either talking to one of the wolves or watching the members of his pack having fun around him. Whenever he found his face in the photos, he was surprised to see that he usually wore the same content expression. Towards the back of the book, he saw one of Stiles, a close up of him making an intentionally stupid face into the camera. Derek’s heart fluttered, and he hoped the other wolves watching him so intently would chalk it up to the overwhelming feelings he was experiencing due to the gift itself.

“I, uh,” Isaac started, capturing Derek’s attention. “I know that there aren’t any photo albums around, and I figured that you probably lost them when...awhile ago. I thought it might be nice for you to have some new family pictures.” Isaac’s face was bright red and he clamped his jaw shut, looking at Derek expectantly. Derek let his tears flow freely, then, as he stood and reached down to pull Isaac to his feet. He wrapped his wolf in a tight hug.

“Thank you, Isaac. It’s perfect. You did good,” he said gruffly. Isaac squeezed him back for a moment before letting go. Derek glanced around the floor at his pack, noticed that most of them were blatantly crying or close to it. Stiles had a hand on his chest, and he was staring openly at Derek, his smile wobbly and tender. Derek used his hand to wipe his own cheeks and smiled as widely as his face would allow.

“Who wants pizza?” he asked, and he was met by resounding cheers.

*

“Isaac,” Derek called out some time later, after the pizza had been eaten and the loft had been cleaned up, “I think there’s a photo missing.” Derek lifted the album up and pointed towards a blank space amongst the first to last page of the album. Isaac looked up from where he was putting his shoes on amidst the shuffle of everyone else getting ready to head home to be with their other families for the rest of Christmas Eve. 

Isaac bit his lip. “Huh,” he said slowly, “I’m not sure what happened.” His heart thudded out of rhythm. _Lie,_ Derek realized, perplexed. Isaac continued. “If I come across it I’ll bring it to you.”

Derek nodded, letting the small fib go, not wanting to ruin the pleasant buzz of the afternoon. He stood by the door and hugged each of his wolves and their companions, not bothering to try and come across as aloof or unfeeling. Now wasn’t the time.

At the end of it all, it was Stiles who lagged behind the rest, moving a little bit slower and dragging his feet on the way out. He stopped in front of Derek and his heart was pounding audibly. _He’s nervous to be around me,_ Derek realized, and he felt his heart tug.

“C’mere,” he said, opening his arms towards Stiles. Stiles smiled, a small little thing, and stepped forward. Derek hugged him a little bit longer and a little bit tighter than he had hugged anybody else. He breathed Stiles in and reveled in the scent of the man he loved, despite the thin tinge of sadness beneath the citrusy surface. 

When the hug broke, Stiles ran a hand through his own short hair. “So, there’s your stuff,” he said, motioning towards the bag he had thrown in the corner when he had arrived. “Don’t, ah, don’t be a stranger, okay?” Stiles didn’t wait for Derek to respond before hustling out the door.

*

A few hours later, as nightfall was approaching, Derek had finished putting everything back in its place and was getting ready to fix himself something to eat when the bag in the corner caught his eye. He sighed. _May as well put this shit away, even though it’s going to smell like him, like US, and fuck._ He emptied the bag onto his bed. He folded the pajama pants, and as he did so two things fell out; his key ( _ouch_ ) and a white square of paper. 

When Derek leaned down to pick up the paper, he realized that he was mistaken. It was a photo, a Polaroid. Derek knew before really looking at it that it was the one missing from his photo album. He took in the details of the photo, his heart aching more and more with each passing second.

It was from the morning at the mall, when Isaac had taken him and Stiles by surprise at the quarter machines. Derek took in his own expression first, shocked at how open and happy he looked as he laughed into the camera, and recalled that he had been laughing with Stiles. Stiles, who was standing slightly behind him and to the side.

Stiles, who was smiling broadly, his eyes fixed on Derek’s face.

Stiles, who was staring at Derek with an expression that could only be adoration, and admiration, and _love_.

All of the air left Derek’s lungs as he pored over the photo, his hand shaking. Nobody had ever looked at him the way that Stiles was looking at him in that photo. Like he was something to be held dear. Like he had hung the moon himself.

Derek’s eyes drifted to the bottom of the photo, and he sucked in a breath when he saw scratchy writing in permanent marker on the white space beneath the photo.

**“I can’t say for sure how your Mom saw your Dad, but this is how I see you.”**

Derek had been wrong. Derek had been _so, so wrong_ , and he had to fix it. 

Derek barely remembered to grab his car keys, let alone the sandwich baggie holding 2 Christmas cookies from the refrigerator, before running out of the loft and slamming the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ta da!
> 
> This chapter is by far the fluffiest thing I have ever written and I would be lying if I said I didn't cringe a few times while writing it, but you know what, it made me happy so I'm leaving it alone. 
> 
> Happy December, folks, and thank you for the kudos and comments, they brighten my life!
> 
> Enjoy :)

It was nearly midnight when Stiles heard his bedroom window sliding open. He was sitting at his desk and facing his laptop, leaving no way for Derek to be able to see his face, but he closed his eyes anyway because he hadn’t expected Derek to come to him this soon and he hadn’t prepared for what he would say or how he would defend himself and how he would keep himself from flinging himself at the stupid burly Alpha who accidentally called him babe and was a shameless flirt and a Greek god with a heart of gold and-

“Stiles. I can hear you thinking from here.” Ugh. And that _voice_ , it did things to Stiles that he would rather nobody ever know about, although he was pretty certain that Derek could probably already smell his reaction. _Fucking werewolves_.

He spun around in his computer chair until he was facing Derek straight on. Derek stood just on the inside of the room, looking like he was going to spook and bolt at any second. The thought nearly made Stiles laugh out loud. Derek, feeling afraid and vulnerable because of _him_. What fucking episode of the Twilight Zone had his life become?

“Well, your eyes are all pretty and soft and not all scary and blue, so I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that you’re not here to kick my ass in a homophobic rage, so kick off your shoes and scary leather jacket instead and stay awhile,” Stiles said, motioning for Derek to sit on his bed, which was in no way inappropriate given that it was the only other surface used for sitting left in the room, right?

Instead of following directions, because in what universe would Derek ever follow his directions, Derek stepped forward into the room towards Stiles and pulled a bag from behind his back before hesitantly holding it out in front of him. Stiles looked over Derek’s face for a minute before reaching out and taking the bag from him. Derek finally sat down on the edge of Stiles’ bed as Stiles tentatively opened the bag. 

Stiles’ heart raced as he reached into the bag (a gift bag, his brain supplied, with a gold Christmas tree on the side, because ‘tis the season and all). He wrapped his hand around something small and stared at it in confusion.

“Reese’s? I mean, who doesn’t love that perfect construct of chocolate and peanut butter, so thank you?” Stiles said, feeling like he was missing something.

Derek’s stupidly perfect fact looked pained. “Keep going, Stiles.” So Stiles did, because he was a good friend who listened when his friends asked him to do things.

The next thing he pulled out of the bag was a small box of...cereal? Stiles turned the box around in his head and the proverbial light bulb went off in his head. He clutched the box of cereal to his chest and barked out a laugh so loud that he feared for a moment that his Dad was going to wake up, but he couldn’t help it.

“Honey Bunches of Oats. Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Derek, are you wooing me with thinly veiled and relatively terrible pet-name food puns?” Stiles managed to ask through his laughter. Derek simply smiled, the whites of his teeth showing and everything, _a real smile_ , and fuck it if Stiles didn’t almost die of bliss every time he saw Derek smile. 

Stiles laughed even harder when he reached back into the bag and pulled out a Baby Ruth candy bar, followed by a small box of candy Sweethearts, the bad ones with the corny phrases that Stiles ate like a fiend every Valentine’s Day. He shook his head in disbelief, because how was Derek even real?

“Did you really think that I was going to come over here in a “homophobic rage,” Stiles?” Derek asked, distracting Stiles from digging further into the gift bag. Stiles felt himself blush and opted to shrug his shoulders instead of opening his stupid mouth. Derek scoffed. Always with the scoffing.

“That would have been pretty hypocritical of me, given the whole…” Derek allowed the sentence to drift, and Stiles could have died with how adorable a flustered Derek Hale was. 

“I know, but you never know, right?” Stiles asked nonsensically. “I mean, you thought I was just playing around with the, ah, the names, so I guess I thought you were doing the same thing? And I’m really hoping that you don’t still think that I was just stringing you along like some joke, or whatever, because I would never, Derek. I just wouldn’t.” Stiles took a deep breath, and tried to calm the fluttering of his heart. He wanted to drop all of the pretenses and ravage Derek with his mouth instead of fumbling with his words all spastically, but he needed Derek to understand that he didn’t just think Derek was _hot_ (even though he was, holy fuck), but that he wanted to crawl under Derek’s skin sometimes, wanted to curl up inside of him and never, ever leave. _But that would probably be a weird thing to say._ So instead of talking, Stiles turned his attention back to his goodie bag.

*

Derek had lived through some terrifying things in his life, but to his recollection, he had never felt quite as nervous as he did when he watched Stiles pull out the small bag containing their two best Christmas cookies, and a pack of sparklers. Stiles’ emotions smelled so strongly and were so mixed and all over the place that Derek couldn’t tell how he was actually feeling, or if he understood what Derek had been going for. 

Derek didn’t have to worry however, that much was made evident the moment Stiles lifted his head and met Derek’s gaze. Stiles knew. 

“Sugar and firework smoke,” Stiles whispered, and his heart was racing so quickly in his chest that Derek was tiptoeing on the edge of concerned.

Derek nodded. “I figured it wasn’t fair to be the only one of us who knows how good we smell together,” he said, before taking a moment to be surprised that he had _allowed_ himself to say that out loud. 

_What’s the harm? You're in love with him. Let yourself be in love with him._

Derek motioned for Stiles to join him on the bed, making it a point to not move over to give Stiles more room. He wanted to be close. Derek pulled out his phone and checked the time display; 12:06 a.m.

“Well, it’s officially Christmas morning. Should we eat our cookies?” Derek asked. Stiles’ responding grin would have knocked Derek to the ground had he not been seated. Stiles opened the bag and didn’t even contemplate before handing Derek his cookie, keeping Derek’s to himself. Derek placed the cookie on his knee for a moment so that he could reach into his pocket. He pulled out a lighter and Stiles handed over the box of sparklers.

For the next couple of minutes, they ate their cookies in silence, a sparkler burning between them, and Derek felt so completely happy that he ached with it.

*

“There’s one more part to your gift,” Derek said, once the cookies were gone and the sparkler had fizzed out. Stiles was so overwhelmed with love for the man in front of him, drunk and nearly dizzy on it, that the only response he could find was to nod his head even though he wanted to protest any more grand romantic gestures because seriously, Derek was trying to kill him. 

Stiles watched Derek stand up and cross the floor, an objection dying on his tongue when Derek opened the door and walked out of his room. Holy shit, _his Dad_. Stiles couldn’t even imagine how his Dad would react to running into Derek Hale in the hallways of his house just after midnight on Christmas morning. When Derek came back into the room holding a washcloth in his hand and looking decidedly not as though he had been threatened by the Sheriff, Stiles let go of the breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding.

“Lie down?” Derek said, and it sounded like both an order and a question. Stiles felt his dick stir with interest (that certainly wasn’t the first time Derek had said those words to him, only every other time it had been in his imagination), and he sprawled out, his back to the mattress. He couldn’t help the squeak that escaped his throat when he felt the bed dip beside him with Derek’s weight. He felt Derek’s fingers at the hem of his shirt, a question in the air, unspoken.

“You can do literally whatever you want with me, Derek. With me, to me, at me, on me, in me...you get it. Blanket consent,” Stiles whimpered the last two words, as Derek had pulled up the hem of Stiles’ shirt and had pulled down the waistband of Stiles’ pajama bottoms as Stiles had been talking. That’s as far as Derek had gone, though, simply having exposed Stiles’ right hip bone. When he brushed his thumb over the small area of skin, an electric jolt traveled from the point of contact throughout the rest of Stiles’ body and oh, how he _needed_. 

*

“You smelled like guilt, in my kitchen, after I told you why it upset me to hear you call me that,” Derek managed to whisper as he pressed a small rectangle of paper to Stiles’ exposed hip. Derek tried to stop his fingers from shaking as he pressed the wet washcloth over it and applied pressure. Stiles squirmed, and Derek watched with fascination as goosebumps rose and spread over Stiles’ pale skin. _I just want to lick him_ , he thought, but was distracted by Stiles’ response.

“I hadn’t meant to make you cry, Der. That’s all. You were hurting and I felt like it was my fault. It wasn’t because I didn’t mean it. I was calling you those things in a joking manner, yeah, because I didn’t think I would be allowed to call you sweetheart, or baby, or any of those things, because I’m Stiles and you’re Derek and Christ, dude, you are just _so far_ out of my league. Part of me thought if I touched you how I wanted to touch you or if I started whispering sweet nothings into your ear that you would punch me or re-acquaint my forehead with my steering wheel so yeah, the opportunity kind of presented itself and I ran with it but I wasn’t fucking with you. And to top it off, I was so confused because you were flirting with me but you couldn’t have been flirting with _me_ , and I’ve just been so fucking in love with you for so long, Derek, that I-” 

Stiles stopped talking, cut off by the sharp intake of breath that Derek hadn’t meant to take. But he couldn’t help it, because _Stiles just said he’s in love with me. Stiles is in love with me. He loves me. HE loves ME._

*

So Stiles hadn’t really meant to let it slip, not like that, and certainly not while whatever-the-fuck-this-was was so brand new that it was practically neonatal. But he had said it, because he was Stiles and he wouldn’t be Stiles if he wasn’t eating his foot at every given opportunity. But the thing was, was Derek didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Derek looked _elated_. 

So Stiles said it again.

“I love you, Derek. Like, an insane amount. Probably bordering on unhealthy, honestly, and basically since the first time I saw you and you berated me for being on your property. That sounds corny, I know, but hey man, you can’t really get on me for being corny because hello, you are totally leading the corny romantic race, here. But anyway,” Stiles swallowed and stared straight into Derek’s eyes, “yeah. I love you. So there.”

“ _Stiles,_ ” Derek breathed, and hearing his name spoken with such reverence sent chills down Stiles’ spine. It was then that Derek moved the washcloth from his hip, leaving the slippery backing of the tattoo in place. Stiles' heart was pounding in his ears as he reached down to the wet patch of skin and slid the paper to the side.

Time seemed to stop for Stiles, and his eyes pricked with tears, hot and not unwarranted. He met Derek’s gaze and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

“When did you get this?”

Derek seemed startled, but he answered regardless. “On my way over here.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve.”

Derek’s cheeks flushed, and Stiles felt his mouth drop open in shock.

“Derek Hale, buttercup, honey bunches, sweetheart, baby, love of my life, _did you break into the mall on Christmas Eve and spend an inappropriate amount of quarters to get this tattoo for me as your grand romantic gesture?_ ”

Derek grinned, and Stiles soared. “It would appear so, yes,” Derek responded flippantly. “But it’s hardly the worst crime I’ve ever committed.”

Stiles barked out a laugh before looking back down at his hip, the laughter dying in his throat.

“So, I love you, we’ve established this, and I’m pretty sure it’s probably safe to assume now that you love me too, yeah?” Stiles asked, unable to keep the tremble out of his voice.

Derek didn’t even hesitate.

“I do.”

*

Derek loved his photo album from Isaac, and it would have been his favorite Christmas gift had it not been overshadowed by the gift of finding out that Stiles tasted just as sweetly as he smelled.

And Jackson’s wolfsbane pepper spray had been thoughtful, but Stiles knew deep down that nothing would ever beat the gift of cuddling up to Derek in his bed in the wee hours of Christmas morning, the scent of fireworks and sugar heavy in the air, Derek stroking over the simple and slightly sticky word temporarily inscribed on his hip. 

**_Darling_ **


End file.
